


Awake

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:19:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: He wished he could say he was surprised by the scowl, but considering he was positive Derek’s face was actually hard-set that way, he couldn’t be surprised. Why he was scowling at him now, though, he had no idea. He didn’t remember doing anything to piss him off lately.Well, this week…Today?It was Derek, he probably got angry at Stiles when he breathed, so it was hard to really think on it too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Fingers flew rapidly across the keyboard, the words on the screen attempting to keep up with the onslaught of information being transmitted from brain to computer. The owner was chewing absently on a pen, despite the fact that there was no need for it. A habit, he supposed.

Finishing up with what he was writing, Stiles’ right hand reached out for the mouse, moving it around on the screen, clicking rapidly. Dark eyes shifted across the images and words on the screen, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Just when he was about to open another document to start typing again, pen still between his teeth, someone spoke.

“Why are you still awake?”

Stiles practically fell out of his chair, windmilling his arms and whipping around urgently after almost swallowing his pen before his eyes landed on the figure standing behind him.

He wished he could say he was surprised by the scowl, but considering he was positive Derek’s face was actually hard-set that way, he couldn’t be surprised. Why he was scowling at him now, though, he had no idea. He didn’t remember doing anything to piss him off lately.

Well, this week…

Today?

It was Derek, he probably got angry at Stiles when he breathed, so it was hard to really think on it too much.

And now he was distracted wondering what he’d done to deserve that scowl when his first thought should’ve been why Derek was in his room. Again.

Or maybe why he was in his room at this hour? Or why he was in his room at this hour asking why he was still awake, all while scowling?

What had he been planning on doing here if he was expecting Stiles to be asleep?

That was a black hole of thoughts that Stiles needed to steer clear of before his brain went off the rails entirely. And considering Derek was still staring—well, scowling—at him, it meant that he still hadn’t answered him.

One would think Derek would be used to that by now, considering Stiles’ mind often went all over the place. Sometimes out loud, but also quietly.

“I’m doing research,” he advised, finally answering the question and motioning the screen with the pen he’d released from between his teeth. “Why are _you_  awake?”

The scowl only deepened at that and Stiles didn’t get a response.

Huge shock there.

“All right. Fine. Be grumpy and tired.” Stiles stuck the pen back in his mouth and turned back to his screen. He was about to start typing, brain somehow quickly able to recall what he’d been in the middle of thinking moments ago.

He found himself leaning forward with his hands outstretched when he was suddenly not as close to the desk as he’d been a second before.

“Go to bed, Stiles.”

Derek had pulled the chair away from the desk.

Stiles shifted his feet on the ground and tried to walk himself forward while still sitting in the chair, but Derek was still holding onto the back of it so that all Stiles did was give the bottom of his feet rugburn.

“Stiles.”

“I’m not even tired! I’m doing research!” He turned to Derek. “Did you know that there’s such a thing as a Faeriemancer? Like, Fairies are bad enough, but apparently there are people out there who can _control_  them! And Fairies are bad news, Derek! Bad news! If one shows up in Beacon Hills, we are going to be very disappointed if we are expecting fairy dust to help us fly.” He turned back to his screen, throwing his pen onto his desk from a distance given the whole hand-on-chair thing Derek had going on. “I’ve always wanted to fly. Not gonna lie, I was pretty crushed that Tinkerbell would rather lead me to my death in the woods than make me think happy thoughts to get my feet off the ground.”

“Stiles.”

He looked back at Derek. “This is _important_  Derek! I don’t want to get lead to my death!”

“Stiles, you need sleep.” Derek was doing that weird thing with his eyebrows that made it look like he was concerned, while also somehow managing to still be scowling at the same time.

“After I finish this! I’m trying to create my own Beastiary. You know, like Argent has, only digital. Who uses books anymore, am I right? Digital all the way, easier to share and we can have multiple copies and—”

“Stiles.” The desk chair was whipped around so fast that Stiles almost fell out of it. Leaning back slightly, he stared at Derek when the Werewolf got right in his face, bracing himself on either armrest of Stiles’ chair and staring him straight in the eye.

Normally Stiles wouldn’t mind the proximity, it wasn’t like Derek understood the concept of personal space when it came to him. Usually he was injuring him when he was in his personal space, but still, this was a common occurrence. The only reason the closeness was weird right now was because Derek still had that weird constipated look on his face where he managed to look both worried and annoyed at the same time.

It was the eyebrows. Always with the eyebrows. Stiles wondered if that was a skill he could learn. Maybe Derek could start an expressive eyebrow class or something.

“Stiles,” Derek said again, obviously aware of Stiles’ lack of focus. He forced himself to actually pay attention to what Derek was saying. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine, I’m rese—”

“Stiles,” Derek cut him off sharply, a hint of a growl in his tone. “You have been awake for almost three days.”

Stiles stared at him.

How had Derek noticed? Nobody else had noticed. Scott thought he’d just had too much Red Bull. Or Adderall.

He’d definitely been abusing the Adderall lately. That would probably be a good way to explain away his insomnia and obsession with research in the middle of the night, but this was Derek.

Who was a Werewolf.

Who could _literally_  smell a lie from a mile away.

A mile? Maybe less. Stiles didn’t know, he’d never thought to ask. Maybe they should test it, see what his range was, determine whether or not—

“Stiles!”

Right, angry Derek, telling him to sleep.

“I just can’t sleep,” he said, hoping he sounded as convincing as he felt.

The eyebrows were doing their thing again, suggesting Derek had smelled the bullshit in his statement. Damn Werewolves and their privacy invading noses. Seriously, could he just have one day—one stupid day—where he could get away with a white lie?

Between Scott, Malia and his dad—not a Werewolf, but a cop, so almost worse—it was amazing he wasn’t stuck in the Jim Carrey _Liar, Liar_ movie!

“Try again. Without the lie, this time.”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“You lie to me all the time.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue that point, then realized that would be a lie so he just shut his mouth instead, letting Derek continue to invade his personal space with his annoying bullshit detector of a nose.

Or maybe it was his ears. He didn’t feel like his heart had increased in pace, and he’d actually been trying to condition himself like people did with lie detector machines to try and ensure he could get away with bullshiting when he needed to. He was pretty sure his heart rate hadn’t spiked, so it had to be scent.

“I can’t sleep,” he repeated.

“For three days?”

“I have research!” He motioned behind himself so animatedly that he almost whacked Derek in the face with his hand. He was glad he didn’t, the only person who’d have gotten hurt would’ve been him.

“Stiles.” Right. Bullshit detector. Dammit.

“How do you even know I’ve been awake for three days?” Stiles demanded, crossing his arms and eying Derek suspiciously. “What were you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night to do while hoping I was asleep? I’ll have you know, if you were looking to steal my virtue, Malia’s already beaten you to tha—ow!”

Derek had grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him out of his chair. He’d have thought he was being violent on purpose if not for the eye roll that had preceded the abuse this time. His hand was still clenched around Stiles’ upper arm and with literally zero effort, he tossed Stiles onto his bed.

The teen bounced once off the mattress, thankfully having landed closer to the center so that he didn’t just bounce clear off the bed. Once he’d settled, he stared at Derek.

“Uh… _Are_  you here to steal my virtue?”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“I’m not tired,” he muttered, turning to put both feet on the floor so he could stand once more, but Derek was at his bedside in an instant, hands on his shoulders and forcing him to lie down.

The entire thing was incredibly suggestive, but if Derek thought so, he didn’t comment on it. He just kept his hands firmly against Stiles’ shoulders, forcing him to remain lying down on top of his blankets.

Still wearing his jeans and hoodie.

And shoes.

“I didn’t know you were into this sorta thing.”

“Stiles.” The warning tone was clear, but Stiles had never been one to know when to stop, so he just kept talking.

“I mean, I’d be up for trying a little bondage, but usually there are ropes involved. You know, ropes, handcuffs, ball-gags—”

“There’s an idea,” Derek said darkly, still pressing Stiles’ shoulders into the bed, one knee at his hip while he bore down on top of him.

“You know, my dad might have something to say about what’s happening right now.”

“Stiles.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re totally hot, but he’s a cop and I’m still underage and—”

“Stiles!”

He stopped talking. It took considerable effort, but he managed it, staring up at Derek. The constipated look was gone, and now he just looked worried. It was weird, seeing Derek worried about him, but that was clearly what this was.

Worry.

“Stiles. You haven’t slept in three days. And I know you’re lying about not being tired. You need to sleep. You’re exhausted, and probably about to get delirious. You need sleep.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Stiles stared him straight in the eye. “I’m not sleeping.”

“Why not?” He’d expected Derek to sound exasperated, like Stiles’ very existence was an inconvenience. But somehow, he didn’t. He sounded genuinely curious, with undertones of concern.

Stiles didn’t want to tell him. Telling him meant making it all come back. It meant the risk of it happening again. He didn’t want to talk to him about it.

But he was looking at him with so much concern, like he wanted nothing more than to fix whatever was wrong. Like he would literally pummel someone into the ground if it meant Stiles could sleep. He wondered what Derek thought was wrong. Did he think it was school? Or his dad? Or the next evil thing that might hit the town?

The last one wasn’t far off.

“I can’t sleep. Not now,” he insisted, voice quiet, almost afraid to speak the words. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic down. “The Nogitsune.”

“The No—” Derek cut himself off, staring at him. “Stiles, that happened years ago.”

“Two, to be exact.”

Derek frowned in confusion, but it only lasted a moment before he seemed to understand.

The Nogitsune had taken over two years ago. _Exactly_  two years ago. This was when everything had started for Stiles. This exact moment was when things had started going wrong.

Last year, Stiles had had the worst nightmares he’d ever had in his life. Considering the ones he’d experienced while possessed by the Nogitsune, to actually be able to top that level of fear was astounding, even to him. But somehow, he had managed to out-scare himself last year.

This year, he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to put himself through that fear again. He wasn’t going to risk the monster coming back in some sick ritual of time that would allow him to take control of Stiles once more just because he’d possessed him during this time period the first time.

He wasn’t going to go through that again. He would rather stay awake for an entire fucking week than go through that again. He was sure he could manage a week—the internet suggested records had been set for ten to eleven days, so seven was nothing.

“Stiles.”

He really wished Derek would stop saying his name like that.

The hands left his shoulders, the Werewolf straightening and staring down at him with something akin to pity. Stiles hated that look. For someone like Derek, who’d been through so much shit in his life, it was almost like a slap in the face to see him pitying him.

Sitting up, he started to throw his feet back over the side of the bed so he could stand, but Derek put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. This one wasn’t a violent shove down onto the bed, it was just a light, almost supportive touch to the shoulder.

“It wasn’t you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles whispered, avoiding looking up at Derek, but he didn’t stand, either. He just sat at the edge of his bed with his feet on the floor. “It happened because of me. People got hurt. Allison _died_.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was!” Stiles turned to him, feeling panic beginning to rise at the mere thought of everything that had happened. “How was that not my fault?! I took over the—”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Derek crouched immediately, making himself eye level with Stiles. “No. _You_  didn’t. The Nogitsune did all that, not you.”

“But I—”

“No.” Derek was using his ‘end of discussion’ voice. Surprisingly, it actually worked for once, forcing Stiles to shut his mouth. It was probably the exhaustion beginning to set in. “Stiles, none of that was your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault. You did what you did to save your father. You being taken over by the Nogitsune could’ve happened to Scott or Allison.”

“But it didn’t,” he insisted, left foot jerking. He looked at Derek and motioned himself, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “It happened to _me_.”

Derek stared at him for a long while, not saying anything. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stood from his position and released Stiles’ shoulder.

Folding his hands together, Stiles shook his head and pressed them against his forehead, wondering if Derek had finally decided that he didn’t care anymore. That Stiles was right, and he deserved to sit there in silent suffering for what he’d done.

Instead, he just heard footsteps pad quietly across the room before the light was turned off.

His head snapped up and he saw Derek’s silhouette wander towards his laptop, the screen illuminating him for the briefest of moments before he closed it, putting the computer to sleep.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to sleep. You’re scared to sleep because you don’t want to repeat the past, or relive it.” Derek was beside him again and Stiles felt the bed dip on his right. “I have some experience with those feelings. Sleep, Stiles. I’ll be here.”

“What?”

“If you have a nightmare, I’ll wake you up. If you wake up on your own, I’ll be here if you need me. If you need someone to hold you, or to reassure you, I’ll be here.”

He couldn’t see Derek’s face in the darkness, but he actually thought he might be serious. He actually thought Derek was legitimately offering to watch over him while he slept.

It should’ve been creepy. Instead it was just nice.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you’re pack. Besides, I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved my life, I can afford a few hours of lost sleep to make sure you’re okay.” He’d said the last sentence somewhat grudgingly, but he’d still said the words aloud.

The thought of sleep was so nice. He was exhausted, his brain was running off fumes and Adderall. He wanted to sleep so bad it was insane.

But he was scared. Even with Derek there, he was still scared.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing him back. He batted the hand away, insisting he had to change, and was grateful when Derek actually let him stand. He kicked off his shoes while pulling his shirt up over his head. He didn’t worry too much about undressing in front of Derek since the lights were out, but it occurred to him only once he’d retrieved his pyjamas from under his rumpled blankets that Derek could see in the dark.

He tried not to dwell on that too much, having pulled on his sweats and a loose shirt. He hadn’t taken his socks off, but he was much too lazy to bother with that so he just fell onto his bed once more, lying down properly and kicking at the blankets so he could get under them. Derek had to stand for a moment since he was sitting on one corner of it, but he sat back down as soon as Stiles had pulled it free.

Lying on his side, bundled in his blankets with his head on his pillow, Stiles stared across the room at the slivers of light coming through the blinds from the streetlights outside. Every time he blinked, terror would slowly begin to set in so he lay there almost forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

“You’re still awake,” Derek said.

“You should be a detective. You know, that’d actually be a good profession for you, what with the lie detector thing and the super strength and—”

“Stiles.”

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare at me like a creeper? Because it’s sweet, but it’s still creepy.”

“You’re right.”

Derek stood and Stiles felt his chest ache at the realization that he was leaving. He had literally talked Derek into leaving even after he’d promised to stay. Only Stiles had that talent.

He heard Derek moving and then the bed dipped again, suggesting he _wasn’t_  leaving, but when cold air hit his arm, he realized what was happening.

“Move over.”

“Uh...”

That was it. That was all Stiles had. He could spit out words a mile a minute even when being threatened with death, but Derek Hale lifted the blankets to get into his bed _at the same time_ as him, and all he had was that.

Uh.

Derek didn’t wait for him to obey, he just lay down beside Stiles, forcing him to either shift or get crushed. He moved to the far side of the bed, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs in his chest. Something which Derek could probably hear, damn him! But he couldn’t help it!

Derek fucking Hale was lying in his bed!

There was no way in _hell_  he was sleeping now!

He rolled onto his other side, putting his back to Derek, and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. Something which would’ve been much easier if Derek weren’t shifting behind him to get comfortable. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, barely able to see him in the dim light from outside.

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness somewhat, it allowed him to just make out that Derek was lying on his back with one arm behind his head and the other resting across his stomach.

He was shirtless, and everyone knew jeans were uncomfortable to sleep in. Which meant he was probably only in his boxers.

Shit, did Derek even _wear_  boxers?! What if he was just naked under the covers? Stiles wouldn’t be able to sleep with a naked Derek beside him!

Screw naked, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep with a _clothed_  Derek beside him, let alone a _naked_  one!

“Stiles.”

He hastily turned back around, facing his wall. “What?”

“Go to sleep. You’ve been awake long enough.”

Easier said than done. Stiles was still having panicked thoughts about the Nogitsune even while also having panicked thoughts about Derek. The Derek ones seemed to be losing their effect the longer they lay in bed together. The more Stiles felt sleep pulling at him, the more panicked he got. He kept shifting back and forth between his stomach, his side and his back, being sure to always keep Derek behind him.

When he returned to his stomach for the umpteenth time, he felt a hand fall onto his back and froze.

It was warm, and almost grounding. It reminded him of where he was, and of who was with him—in a calming way, not in a ‘holy shit Derek Hale’s sexy body is in my bed’ way.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, Stiles focussing on the hand on his back. When almost a minute had passed, the hand began to move, rubbing slow, gentle circles on his back. The heat of his hand easily came through his shirt, and Stiles felt his previously rapidly beating heart beginning to slow.

The more Derek rubbed, the more relaxed Stiles became. He felt his eyelids flagging, brain still fighting sleep, but the calming presence behind him and the anchor of the warm hand rubbing his back was enough to overthrow his fears and he eventually fell asleep.

If he had any nightmares that night, he didn’t remember them. All he remembered was waking to his dad’s angry shouting and Derek scrambling half-naked out the bedroom window.

 **END.**  

 


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